


Late Night Snack

by VibraniumHeart



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Bucky Barnes, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Bucky Barnes Feels, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Romantic Fluff, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 06:55:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19268080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VibraniumHeart/pseuds/VibraniumHeart
Summary: Reader is an Omega Avenger, and in the middle of her pre-heat. This is what happens when she goes to the kitchen for a late night snack.





	Late Night Snack

**Author's Note:**

> I know the tenses are wonky with this. But I'm not gonna fix it. Mostly because I worked on this solidly for over a week, lost the entire thing and had to rewrite it. It might be garbage, but posting anyway. Hope y'all enjoy as always! I just love our favorite trash panda as a soft Alpha

The compound is quiet, for once, the lights throughout the common area muted to a dull yellow hue. Thankfully so, considering it's just after three in the morning. In a tower full of superheroes, though, nothing is out of the ordinary. It isn't an odd occurrence to find Tony and Bruce mulling over their latest project notes---on God only knows what number coffee pot, or to find members of the team coming back from missions, or scrounging for late night snacks.

 

Which, admittedly, is part of the reason you're up so late. Pre-heat always makes you hungry, a bit warmer than normal, and restless like the day before Christmas as a kid or the day before vacation. 

 

You're too busy thinking about the last of the strawberry shortcake while you fill a Tupperware with ice cubes that you don't notice him. He's cloaked in shadow as if he is one. You're not certain if it's the soft clearing of his throat or the glint of light off his metal arm that startles you-

 

-but the Tupperware goes sailing and, with it, the ice. A cold hand flies to your chest as you laugh breathily, the ice skittering wildly about the floor. He winces sheepishly and, before you can say anything, he's out of his chair and bending to help you pick up the many cubes of ice.

 

"Didn't mean to scare you." He apologizes, tucking a dark strand of hair around his ear with his flesh hand. The left is still gathering cubes to toss back into the container.  

 

"It's alright, I wasn't really paying attention. Did you just get back?" He's still wearing his tactical pants but no vest, just a sleeveless black tank top and his feet are sinfully bare. You can already feel the blush rising to your cheeks that his mere presence brings. But there's decidedly something _intimate_ about the sight of his bare feet, in the dim light of the kitchen. 

 

"Yeah, just. Stevie went up to bed already." He isn't sure why he tells you, other than to settle your nerves about other potential surprises. Maybe it's partially a warning, too. A way to let you know you're _alone_ with him. 

 

He can smell you, after all---the strong scent of old books, a punch of citrus on his tongue and something floral. _Lilacs_ , he thinks, but he's not quite sure. He can always smell you but now, with your heat creeping up slowly and your closeness to him...it's almost enough to make him _shudder_ , the Alpha in him crooning for you as if you were the moon itself. 

 

He aches to run his fingers through your hair and tug until your head tips back. To bury his nose in the hollow where neck meets shoulder and breathe it in. Taste it for himself. Mark you as his own. But he's long become an expert on self control, and always been eager to not appear threatening to you. Never you. 

 

You're just as caught up in him; in the masculine smell of leather, smoke and motor oil, in the blue of his eyes that are normally colder than the ice melting in your hands. They're soft, now, almost warm---like the sky on a cloudless summer day. Tender. 

 

Until you catch a whiff of something else. It's syrupy sweet and tangy, delicate, your mouth watering before your eyes land on the plate he had left behind. There, piled high, is the last of the strawberry shortcake loaded with whipped cream and showered in blended strawberries. Just the way you like it. 

 

A whine slips free of your mouth, embarrassment burning your cheeks hotly. Bucky only follows your line of sight and barks a soft, husky laugh and offers you a crooked smile. One that has your heart leaping into your throat. 

 

"Split it with ya?" He offers. There's a slight Brooklyn drawl to his words that makes your blood sing. You don't care what Steve Rogers says, Bucky is absolutely still a charmer. He's certainly charmed you. Not that you would admit it. 

 

"Are you sure? You don't have to share." Honestly he's been through enough for several lifetimes and the idea of commandeering any of his dessert feels wrong. If he wanted to eat it to himself you wouldn't fault him, pre-heat cravings be damned. 

 

Bucky shrugs easily in response, "I know I don't have to. But the less I eat the less I have to work off in the gym tomorrow." And there's something intoxicating about taking care of you, like a proper Alpha should. For a moment he can pretend you're his, that he's sharing his dessert with **his** Omega. 

 

He must sense your hesitation because his eyes roll playfully. "Just share the damn cake with me, doll." 

 

It's all the convincing it takes from him. You tell yourself it has nothing to do with the petname, or the slight command in his tone that sets your nerves alight. No, it's just that your cravings are that strong. 

 

So you find yourself seated next to Bucky with your own fork held delicately between your fingers.  He's on your left, flesh arm laid in his lap while he eats with his left. This close you can see the few days worth of stubble alone his jaw, nearly hiding the perfect cleft of his chin. You can see the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and the little bit of cream that sticks to his plump bottom lip.

 

Without thinking you set your fork down to wipe it away with a swipe of your thumb. Bucky's entire body tenses at the gentle touch, his head ducking to press his nose to the inside of your wrist with a deep inhale.

 

The action sends a bolt of heat through your core, thighs twitching with the urge to clamp shut. "M sorry." He murmurs, warm breath scattering over your flesh. "You don't.." he clears his throat. "I won't do anything. It's just...nice." 

 

You know he means that he won't let his primal urges take over, won't force himself on you just because of your biology. He's an Alpha, you're an Omega close to heat. But he still has control. 

 

"I know." You hate the way your voice trembles with want, need, and reluctantly pull your hand back with a deep flush. "You're a good man, Bucky. A good Alpha."

 

You're almost certain you imagine the flush in his cheeks, but there's no mistaking the deep and rumbling purr he gives inresponse. The way his chest puffs out slightly at the praise.

 

"Careful, _Omega_ , or I might think you're sweet on me."

 

Another flash of heat soars through you, of shyness, so you busy yourself with scooping up another bite. Refuse to meet his eyes. "Would that be so bad, if I was?"

 

The silence that follows is deafening. Your throat tightens up as you swallow a final bite of the strawberry shortcake and clear your throat somewhat awkwardly. "Well, thanks for sharing Bucky." 

 

You don't want him to feel guilty for not feeling the same way. He's had enough pain and anguish in his life and the last thing he needs is you adding to it because your stupid _feelings_ are hurt. 

 

It isn't until you're rinsing your fork in the sink, back to him, that he speaks---and he's much closer, close enough for his breath to puff warmly against your neck.

 

"It's not bad---" he sighs, ducking his head. You can feel the silky strands of his hair against your shoulder blade, the spaghetti strap of your tank top the only barrier. 

 

"It's okay, Bucky. You don't owe me an explanation."

 

His hands came up to rest on either side of the counter, caging you in. "You just caught me off guard, darlin'. Didn't expect you to feel the same."

 

Your body whipped around in surprise to face him, mouth slack with shock. Carefully, slowly, his flesh hand came up to close it--fingers gently pushing your jaw upwards. He didn't let go, fingers sliding down to your throat so that his thumb could sweep over the angle of your jaw.

 

"You---you mean?" 

 

His responding grin was crooked and soft, his chuckle throaty and breathy. "That I'm sweet on you? Yeah. Have been since the moment I saw you for the first time."

 

Heat rose to your cheeks, stomach doing backflips at the news. "You never said anything." You accused softly. 

 

Another soft laugh. "You intimidate me." He confessed so quietly you almost didn't hear it. Hardly louder than a whisper. 

 

Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip sharply, to stop the giggle that threatened to erupt. "You're one to talk." You teased. "Those blue eyes could get me to do almost anything."

 

For a moment you think he's going to kiss you, the air between you so thick with tension. But then his lips press tenderly to your forehead. "Can I walk you back to your room, doll?"

 

Another backflip from your stomach and your throat tightens with a silent squeal. Afraid to embarrass yourself, all you can do is nod. Bucky, like a true gentleman, offers his arm and tucks your hand neatly into the crook of his elbow. The small contact has your nerves singing, practically purring under his touch. 

 

It's impossible to stop the pang of disappointment you feel when he drops you off at your room and it seems he has no intention of kissing you---not yet.

 

Instead he brings your hand to his lips, dropping another tender kiss to your knuckles. His breath is warm against your skin, the heat of his mouth blazing against your electrified nerves. 

 

"Goodnight, Y/N." He murmurs huskily, as if the small contact is undoing him as thoroughly as it is you. But the bastard must know exactly what he's doing, if the deep eye contact he maintains is anything to go by. 

 

And he deserves a taste of his own medicine, doesn't he? You pout at him, hand still in his. "That hardly seems like a proper goodnight, Sargeant. You gonna make a girl work for it?"

 

Bucky steps further into your space. "Trying to be a gentleman, babygirl."

 

Your heart does a somersault. "And if you weren't trying to be a gentleman?"

 

He recognizes the challenge for what it is, dropping your hand to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear. The same hand guides you forward slowly, blue eyes on your mouth as he slowly closes the gap between you. 

 

The slow pace has your heart ratcheting up several notches, the beat loud and pulsing in your ears. He inhales soft but sharp before his lips press to yours in the softest kiss you've ever had. 

 

Tingles shiver over the base of your neck and down your spine, your hands fisting his shirt and jacket to keep his lush mouth pressed to yours. You feel Bucky's groan before you hear it, the sound rippling through you in a way that has you aching for more. And he's hardly touched you. 

 

As you break away he seems similarly affected, shuddering out a longing sigh. "Tell me to stop, darlin'."

 

You couldn't stop the whine that escaped, shaking your head in response. "I don't want you to stop." 

 

In the next breath he stole your lips once more, harder this time. The sharp points of his teeth clamped down on your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth. He swallowed your needy whimper, tongue pushing into your mouth to slide against your own. 

 

As your hands gripped him tighter his own slid up the outsides of your bare thighs. You're thankful you'd warn nothing but your thin cotton sleep shorts and a tank top. 

 

You let him lift your leg, hitching it around his hip as he presses closer to you. And suddenly he's _there_ , the hard length of his cock pressing over your soaked pussy. Your breath is jagged and shallow when his lips pull away from yours to lay claim to your throat. He sucks and nips, soothing away the stings with gentle sweeps of his lips. 

 

He's already ruined you for anyone else. Not that you _wanted_ anyone else. But no one has ever kissed you like this, made you feel so wanton and uninhibited with your clothes still on. 

 

Your hips jerk at a sharp nip, close to your scent gland but not enough to claim you. Bucky growls in response, grinding his hips into yours in a slow, hard roll. "Fuck, _doll_." His flesh hand pushes higher, long fingers edging under the hem of your sleep shorts. "Want you so bad. I can smell your sweet little cu--" 

 

He cuts himself off, breath ragged as he shifts his hips away from yours. His hair is thoroughly mussed from the way you've been tugging at it, eyes dark with desire and his lips are kiss swollen and flushed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to talk like that." 

 

Relief floods through you. You thought he'd been apologizing for the single best kiss of your entire life. His hand is still on your thigh as his eyes drop to the space between you. He thinks his Alpha has offended you. Which might be funny, if the way he'd spoken hadn't turned you on so much. You wanted more.

 

Without overthinking your hand settles over his on your thigh. "Tell me, James. Can you smell how wet I am?" 

 

There's an audible hitch in his breath. "Yes." 

 

A little higher. "Do you want to touch me?" 

 

Another hitch, though he still restrains himself. " _So bad._ "

 

High enough so that he can feel you're not wearing underwear. "But you're trying to be a gentleman?"

 

Bucky huffs out a small laugh, but he nods. "Not making it easy on a fella, sweetheart. I just...." he meets your eyes now, "I don't wanna scare you off. I want more than this, than tonight. I want you to be mine. My girl." 

 

His cheeks flush and his eyes go soft and you can't help but beam brightly at him. "I am yours." He's so sweet it makes you giggle, and you can't even be mad for it. He makes you feel feminine and soft. "Whatever happens tonight won't change that, okay? If you want to say goodnight, I'll let you go and we can take it as slow as you want. But, if you wanna stay, you can touch me. I promise I would say if I wanted to stop." 

 

His blue eyes search yours slowly, time seeming to slow to a syrupy drizzle. And then he makes up his mind, pressing himself back against you with a sharp inhale. Immediately his lips are back on yours and then moving hotly down your throat again. 

 

This time his grinds are harder, slower, more purposeful. "You're undoing me, doll." He gasps, nipping along your collarbone. 

 

"Me?" You gasp incredulously. "You're--" you broke off with a whimper as his metal hand teased the crease of your thigh, cool against the searing heat that was rolling through you. 

 

"Shhh," he purred, flesh hand slipping over your open mouth to silence you. "Those sounds are _mine_. Only for me." He commanded. His teeth latched onto the hem of your tank top, dragging it down with his mouth until your breasts spilled free. 

 

Bucky continued the slow grind of his hips against yours as his mouth latched onto a nipple and bit down, sucking and soothing away the sting with soft swipes of his tongue. 

 

Your back bowed, pressing your chest harder against his mouth as your hips jerked again. A whine was muted against his hand, your own scrambling to grip him tighter as your orgasm rushed up to meet you. 

 

His name spilled from your open mouth as you panted against his hand, pressing him closer to you as the tight coil in your lower belly snapped.

 

You came with a cry, tears of pleasure leaking from the corners of your eyes at the onslaught of pleasure. His hand fell away from your mouth to allow you to drag in shaky breaths. 

 

Slowly he released your nipple with a wet pop, blowing cool air over the taut flesh with pursed lips. "So beautiful, Y/N. And all for me." 

 

With ragged breaths and shivering thighs you pushed a hand between you to unzip his tactical pants, fumbling until your hand is wrapped around his thick cock. Bucky made a choked sound, hips jerking into your touch. As you swiped your thumb over the head of his already leaking cock he groped for the doorknob. 

 

A growl reverberated through his chest and into yours. The door opened and, eagerly, the two of you stumbled through. He kicked the door shut behind him, nearly crushing you against the wall with a broken whimper.

 

"Baby, mmm, fuck..." he gasped, thoroughly wrecked. "Fuck, stop. Stop." He begged. You released him immediately but he spoke again before you could even begin to worry that you had done something wrong. "I don't want this to be over too fast."

 

Your cheeks set aflame at his husky plea, nose nuzzling into the line of his throat. You feel drunk off him, the smell of him in your space. Now you can smell the tang of the earth, sweat and gunsmoke and metal. It makes your thighs clench with want, a new wave of arousal flooding through you. 

 

There's no doubt that your shorts are already soaked through and you wonder what you must look like; eyes blown and glassy, lips kiss swollen, clothes askew and utterly debauched. You want more. A twinge zings sharply through your abdomen, though it does nothing to cool the heat of your lust. Your heat. Brought on earlier than planned, no doubt because of the Alpha currently dominating your space. 

 

"Slow later." You whine. "Need you now." 

 

Bucky doesn't hesitate, possessive growl ripping from his throat and reverberating through your entire body. Another bolt of electric energy through you at the knowledge that he's just as wrecked as you are. 

 

In a blink he has your body under his, both of you naked, as he ruts against you. The head of his cock teases over your wet folds and you can tell he's warring with himself. It's the first time and he wants to go slow, take his time. But primal urges are winning out for you both.

 

"Please, Alpha, _James_."

 

A deep groan finds the hollow of your throat as he pushes in, straight to the hilt. "Fuck," he rasps, stilling for a moment. "So goddamn wet. Tight." 

 

The sensation paired with his praise has your walls fluttering around his cock. "I-I'm..." it's all you can muster before you're coming for a second time. 

 

Bucky whimpered, biting down hard on his lip to stave off his own impending orgasm. You're both so worked up--both from the hormones raging through you and the months of want with no release. 

 

His hips move of their own accord, fucking deep and slow into you to drag out the orgasm as long as possible. You're beyond words, tearing marks into his back that won't be there come morning. The thought sends an ache through his chest. He wants to bear your marks, to proudly show off who he belongs to.

 

"Harder." He begs the one word, with a dim hope that if you mark hard enough the lines will stay. You oblige, taking your nails down his back harder and fisting his hair when he ruts harder against you. 

 

Several things happen at once; Bucky bares your throat to his greedy mouth, latches onto the scent gland with sharp teeth. He bites down when you whine needfully, at the same time his knot catches in your sweet cunt.

 

And then you're cumming once more with a silent scream, all the air sucked out of your body by the force of pleasure singing through it. He lets go just in time to encourage your open mouth to his own scent gland, a plea for you to bite.

 

As soon as you do he's thrown over the invisible edge he's been teetering on and comes _hard_ , harder than he ever has. It nearly makes him black out. 

 

The waves crest again and again until you're both shuddering weakly, thoroughly sated. 

 

It takes the last dregs of his energy to roll the pair of you over so you're atop him and nestled happily into his chest. 

 

"I love you." He murmurs into your sweat damp hair. 

 

In response he gets a soft hum---you're already asleep against his chest, but bliss fills him anyway. 

 

He'll just have to tell you tomorrow, and the next day, and the next, and every day for the rest of your lives. 


End file.
